#TO GET RID OF THE SPLINTERS IN THEIR GUMS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

xiu21chen99 · 4 years

Text

“Say No to This” (hisoillu headcanon/imagine)

day 2: disguises for #hisoilluweek by @illumizoldycks

(hc, the first time illu gets jealous)

where Illumi comes home in a pin-morphed disguise to see how Hisoka would react to someone else coming home to him.

Illumi was on his way back to his and Hisoka’s shared apartment in Yorkshin when the idea dawned on him

It was a random thought, one that made his stomach feel queasy for unknown reasons- how would his supposed fiance react if someone else came home?

He knew this silly prenup situation was an act of business and not love, but still, he was curious to see how loyal Hisoka could be. After all, he hasn’t brought anyone into their apartment ever since he gave Illumi his engagement ring.

But to what extent will the magician be able to hold out to?

Illumi stopped at the border of Yorkshin, grabbing a few pins from his coat pocket.

Who should he turn into? It should definitely be someone who’s had experience with Hisoka, someone who’s ravished his fiance in ways he has yet to do.

And someone who wished to kill him, of course, because Hisoka would never settle for anyone less.

He thought back to the Ryodan- Lucilfer, maybe? But Hisoka’s lost all fondness for him when he killed him.That only left...

Illumi sighed and punctured his back and chest, losing a few inches of height and gaining, well, womanly features on his front. He pressed a few into his scalp, willing his dark straight locks into spiky pink.

He bought an outfit from the first shop he saw, and walked back to his destination.

It was quite chilly tonight, and these shorts did little to help.

He skipped reception and went straight to the elevator, to the top floor where their suite awaited. Hisoka would be asleep, he always slept early to “avoid eyebags” as if he couldn’t cover it up with Texture Surprise.

Illumi procured one of his needles and a string of thread which he also bought from that boutique, and infused some nen into both of them to imitate his disguise’s power.

The elevator doors opened, and he stepped out into the long hallway where only one door stood at the end of it. The whole floor was theirs.

He unlocked their apartment door and closed it silently. With careful steps, he tiptoed into their shared bedroom, where Hisoka lied face down, shirtless in the sheets, fast asleep.

Illumi walked closer, and when he reached the foot of the bed he jumped at his fiance’s back, making his nen-infused thread glow as he pressed it against Hisoka’s neck.

“What the-” Hisoka started, but only coughed when Illumi pressed the thread closer.

Illumi showed the side of his face, lit by the moonlight bleeding from their balcony, and smirked lightly for effect.

“Machi? What the hell-”

“This is for my friends, you stupid fucking clown,” Illumi said in his morphed voice, wrapping the thin thread tighter around the man’s neck, and for a moment he thought Hisoka wouldn’t fight him, wouldn’t fight Machi.

And that brought a bitter taste in Illumi’s tongue, knowing his fiance will succumb to the spider he portrayed.

But then a card flew in, one that boomerang’d in the air and snapped Illumi’s thread.

He fell back, momentarily losing his balance but that was enough for Hisoka to flip over and take him pin him to the bed by the hands. “Where the fuck did you even get that card?!” Illumi asked, mimicking Machi’s tone and speech near perfectly.

“A magician never reveals his secrets.” Hisoka winked, and Illumi felt the familiar stickiness of Bungee Gum wrap around his arms. No Machi would certainly not back down just yet.

Illumi pulled his legs back and thrashed them around, trying to land a kick somewhere but Hisoka pillowed them between his thighs, then in Bungee Gum. He groaned in that distinctly annoyed way Machi always did.

“Let me go you asshole-”

“Hush now, Machi. We don’t want security to check in on us like this, do we?” Hisoka squeezed his waist, his now thinned down waist.

“So,” the clown started, “how’d you find me?”

“You’re stupid if you think I’m going to answer that.”

“Feisty Machi, gosh how I missed you,” Hisoka sighed, plopping down next to him, “everything’s been so boring, y’know? I’ve never pegged myself as the domestic type, but moving to an apartment in a busy city, having a fiance who works non-stop. Can you blame a guy for being restless?”

Ouch.

“I don’t care about your marriage problems, just get this sticky thing off of me!”

Hisoka craned his neck to look at him- no, at Machi- with something akin to fondness, “I really did miss your fire.”

“Hisoka, I swear I will rip your head off if you don’t get this shit off of me-”

Then Hisoka was kissing him. No, kissing Machi.

They’ve only kissed twice before, once years before when they were still young. The other, a formality when Hisoka gave him the ring. Neither of those felt like this, felt like Hisoka wanted to breathe in all of the oxygen out of his lungs.

Before Illumi could lose his logical thinking, he bit him, bit the tongue that prodded his lips to open. Because that’s what Machi would do, she would never indulge Hisoka, right?

The clown had the audacity to moan as he pulled back, straddling (his) Machi’s narrow hips, “does this remind you of anything, dear?”

Hisoka patted his hair, Machi’s hair, as if in thought. Illumi snapped his neck to the side, away from the gentle hand- he’s never that gentle with him, either

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he answered, fake-gagging at the kiss. Illumi would pat himself on the back for doing such a convincing act.

“Come on, Mach, two years ago? At Heaven’s Arena? You’re seriously going to make me spell it out?” Hisoka’s boxers rid up as he pressed his weight on his hips, Machi’s hips.

“Shut up!” Illumi turned to the side, gazed out the window where the city slept. Something rearranged his insides, pooled deep in his stomach and pulled lightly at his heartstrings. Two years ago? That was some time after they took the Hunter’s Exams.

He felt Hisoka snuggle into his neck, Machi’s neck, felt wet kisses and sharp canines bite into his skin. “Come on, I pressed you against the window.”

Hisoka’s hands slid up his newly bought shirt, then under to the bralette he was made to buy as well. Illumi struggled in his hands, because Machi would have refused this, right?

Right?

“Played with your hair,” Hisoka whispered into his ear, then bit the lobe of it. Illumi yelped, surprised. Then squealed, disgusted. He could only hope his act was still convincing.

He got a card, from somewhere, and used it to rip Illumi’s shirt in half. Hisoka hummed, pleased to see his exposed chest- well, Machi’s

“Held you by the waist like this,” Hisoka continued, fingers caressing his skin in gentle strokes that Illumi felt himself shudder, his fingers settled on his- Machi’s- bare waist.

“Then I asked you if you wanted to spend the night with me.”

Illumi felt sick now but he refused to meet Hisoka’s searching eyes.

Hisoka moved his hands to his back, towards the slightly sunken spine Illumi guessed Machi would have.

He felt one hand leave his torso, and then fingers trapped his chin and made him turn to the despicable man on top of him. Hisoka was smirking, he looked so smug Illumi wanted to punch him.

Hisoka dived in to kiss him, full lips and tongue and moans and- fuck, Illumi let himself kiss back.

“Then you said,” Hisoka sighed as they separated, breathless. A hand was in his hair now, playing with his scalp while the other traced slow circles at the base of his spine.

Illumi bit back the sighs at both the slow ministrations. If he was going to be trapped here under Hisoka while disguised as Machi then he should just make the most of it.

“Then you said no.”

Huh?

Illumi blinked to hide the fact that his eyes were blown wide open. Well, that wasn’t what he expected.

“I said no then, I’m saying it again now. Get the fuck off of me!”

Hisoka’s hands stop, press into his skin slowly. Illumi struggled around the groping hands, feigning disgust when he knew deep down he just wanted to be held like this.

Then, Illumi felt it. And Hisoka did too.

Illumi froze, as Hisoka’s hands settle over the exposed pin heads on his skin.

Hisoka smiled, pearly canines shown and all as he looked down at him.

Did he know?

Illumi tensed, feeling calloused fingers circle around his pins. There were three lined up on his back that gave him the illusion of breasts and subsequently lost him a few inches of height, while four settled on top of his head, that changed his hair and facial features and voice, hidden in the pink bush.

“Love, did you honestly think I wouldn’t have picked up what you were doing?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Illumi wriggled away, tried to anyways. Stupid Bungee Gum, stupid Hisoka.

In a flash, Hisoka pulled all seven pins out. Illumi grunted from the sudden pull, mentally unprepared for the physical changes his body went through.

“You should warn me next time,”

“Love, you attacked me. Now let’s hear the reason,” Hisoka threw the pins to the side, some splintering his wooden bedside table and others scratching their tiled floor,

“Release me, first?”

“Hmm, no.”

Illumi sighed, avoiding his fiance’s gaze, “I was curious how you’d react...”

“React to what?” Hisoka encouraged. Illumi glanced over, just a quick snap of his neck before going back to the balcony.

“To having someone else come home to you.”

Hisoka chuckled over him, “oh darling.” He felt Bungee Gum evaporate from his wrists. With his hands free, Illumi covered his face with them, feeling the burn of embarrassment hit his cheeks. He felt his bone structure morph back to normal.

“I’m set to marry you because you’re the only one I want to even share a home with,” Hisoka reached over, pulling his hands away. Illumi didn’t fight, too tired to do so. “You don’t need the guise of someone else, I’ll only await for your return, only enjoy your presence in our home,”

Illumi leaned up, finally able to kiss Hisoka with his own lips, savoring the taste of his fiance.

The Bungee Gum on his leg faded too, then Hisoka was pulling him over and down, settling Illumi over him.

Hisoka still kissed him like he wanted to ravish him, like he wanted to drain all the oxygen out of Illumi’s lungs so he was the only thing Illumi could breathe in, still held him gently, as if he weren’t a cold blooded assassin, as if he were someone precious enough to be held with care.

They part, breathless. Illumi leaned, his forehead pressed tenderly against Hisoka’s as they try to catch their breath.

“Was all of that, true?” Illumi asked, still panting.

“Of course, love, I’m marrying you, aren’t I?” Hisoka chuckled between breaths.

“No, I meant about Machi, did you-”

“Well, it was half true.”

Illumi frowned, but Hisoka gave the space between his scrunched eyebrows a peck, and he didn’t feel all too... jealous? anymore.

“I didn’t touch her, she’d have punched me and left me with a severed arm if I did. I only asked her to dinner, and that was before the incident in this very city we’re living in,” Hisoka explained, brushing away the fallen strands of his hair away, black hair not pink. His hair, not Machi’s.

“Would you rather I-”

“I’d rather you stay like this, my lovely Illumi Zoldyck.”

Illumi snorted but he felt his skin tingle at his fiance’s words.

They meet again, lips on lips, hungry for more.

Later, that night under the sheets, the naked pair embraced each other, lazily spent. Hisoka had his arm around Illumi’s shoulders while Illumi hugged his fiance by the waist, fingers fiddling with the terrain of scarred skin.

“You know,” Illumi broke the peaceful silence, “I can’t comprehend Machi’s choice, on how she said no to this- no to you.”

“But...?”

“But I’m glad,” he sighed, tilting his head up from its place on Hisoka’s chest, receiving Hisoka’s eyes that stared at him lovingly, “I’m glad she refused, because you’re mine.”

“I am, love, as you are mine.”

57 notes · View notes

kimzplace · 4 years

Text

MORE APPALACHIAN SUPERSTITIONS & OLD WIVES-TALES

As pertaining to Spirits:

To ward off spells, wear a rabbit's foot around your neck.

To make a death charm, shape a little wax figure and put the victim's hair in it, then put the figure in the fire. To break a spell, carry drinking water across a running stream.

A horseshoe hung over the door keeps witches and evil spirits away.

If you want to keep a witch out of your house, lay a broom across the doorstep.

To kill a witch, carve a heart in a tree; drive a nail in the tree, giving a tap every morning. On the ninth morning, drive the nail all the way in.

To keep away ghosts, put salt on the fire or carry the left hind foot of a graveyard rabbit.

A snakeskin bag with a toad's eye inside will ward off ghosts.

Death:

If you rock an empty cradle, the baby will die.

If your ears are ringing, you are hearing the death bell and a friend will pass away.

If you cut your hair in March, you'll die that year.

It's bad luck for a new bride to meet a funeral procession.

A bird flying out of a house of sickness means the patient will die.

If a broken clock suddenly strikes, it's a sure sign of death.

If you see a shooting star, a friend will die.

If a dog howls at night, someone in the household will die soon.

If you suddenly shudder, it means a rabbit has run across your grave.

If somebody dies, stop the clock until the next day, or someone else in the house will die.

It's bad luck to point at a graveyard.

If rain falls into an open grave, that means the deceased is bound for hell.

Love:

If your lover is going out to cheat on you, sprinkle salt in the path, and the lover will turn around and come back.

If two people put spoons in a cup at the same time, they will be married.

If you dream about death, it's a sign that a wedding day is near.

Strike a match and hold it upside down. If it burns to the end, it means your mate loves you truly.

If you look in a mirror held over a spring, you will see the face of the person you will marry

If you swallow a chicken's heart, you will win the hand of the one you love.

Name a fishing hook after the person you love. If you catch a fish with the hook, it means the love is true.

You will marry as many people as the number of seeds that will stick to your forehead.

If you put a four-leaf clover in your shoe, you will marry the first person you meet.

If a girl takes the last piece of bread from a plate, she will be an old maid.

It's bad luck to bathe on your wedding day.

Wednesday is the best day to get married, except in May.

Sunshine on wedding day means a happy marriage.

If your lips itch, it means you want to be kissed.

Luck

Always lend salt; if you give it away, you will have bad luck.

Tell a dream before breakfast and it won't come true.

It's bad luck to sew on Saturday unless you finish the job.

If you dream about muddy water, you will have bad luck.

It's bad luck to look in a mirror at midnight.

If a cricket chirps in your fireplace, you will have good luck.

It's bad luck to pass somebody on the stairs.

The third person to light a cigarette from the same match will have bad luck.

It's bad luck to put shoes back in the box before wearing them.

If you put on a shirt wrong-side-out, it's good luck. But you have to get someone else to turn it inside-out for you, or your luck will change.

It's bad luck to sneeze at the table.

If you wear an opal, it's bad luck, unless it's your birthstone.

If you sweep after the sun goes down, you will never be rich.

It's bad luck to watch a friend leaving if you continue watching until the person is out of sight.

If a black cat crosses your path, it's bad luck, unless the cat crosses from right to left.

It's bad luck to run backwards.

Healing:

If you scratch yourself with a nail, rub it in grease and throw it in the fire.

One cure for hiccups is to tickle the nose with a feather.

Eating parched corn or parched coffee will cure stomach ailments.

To get rid of warts, carve one notch in a stick for every wart you have. Bury or hide the stick, and the warts will go way.

To stop bleeding from a wound, apply chimney soot

Don't let birds gather your hair for nesting material: you will go crazy.

For toothache, rub a splinter around the gum until it draws blood; drive the splinter into a tree, and the toothache will go away.

Putting a handful of salt on your head will cure a headache.

If you eat snow before the third snowfall of the season, it will make you sick.

If you dream about crossing water, there will be an illness in the family.

To get rid of chills, tie a string around a persimmon tree.

If you sweep under the bed of a sick person, that person will die.

If your hand itches, it means someone will give you a present soon.

For snake bite, cut up the snake that bit you and press its flesh to the wound. This will draw out the poison.

Raw wet tobacco will draw the venom from an insect's sting

I post these for our entertainment only! Always seek out professional modern medicine.

Hope you enjoyed reading. Drop a comment. Share some of your own.

Remember, if you say it three times, it comes true! SpOoKy!

~~banjo~~

#appalachian mountains #tennessee #east tennessee #mountains #mountain magick #witchythings #granny #magick #old wives tales #superstition

32 notes · View notes

syndianites · 4 years

Text

Horns

PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS BEFORE READING

CW: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Self-Harm, Body Horror, Broken Bones, Self-Mutilation, Blood, Dismemberment

If you continue to read on you have been warned!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It always happened when he let himself relax too much. He’d be enjoying the moment, having a good laugh, just feeling free now that there wasn’t a big something to worry about. Always when he felt good, when he felt like things weren’t collapsing around him.

Then there would the tale-tell itch in his head. The discomfort in his mouth. A push in his clothes. The feeling for growing, unfurling.

The cracking of bone jutting from his skull, moving out in stuttered movements. A push with a crack, pause, another push of pain, pause, another. Each symbolized a curve, the rough formation of a wave, a wiggle back in forth of bone. It felt like someone was trying to rip it from his body, as though someone were gleefully pulling at an arm, listening to the person scream and cry, bone splintering and disconnecting with each tug, a splatter of blood hitting your cheek-

Horns, blood red at the tips, falling into a gradient of bone white at the base. That was his blood smeared along the growth. His head throbbed, and if he looked at the horns, eyes drifting along their length, he could almost see the blood pulse in time with the pain. Thump, pain, thump, pain.

But this growth wasn’t alone. More bone- always more bone- pushed from his gums. Teeth, fangs, sharp like daggers and meant to kill. They came in the sort of way you pushed a syringe into flesh: a smooth glide accompanied with a stiff discomfort. Just on the edge of painful, but only really for that first prick.

It was when they dug into the rest of his mouth. They grew from both the bottom and the top set of canines, crowding his mouth. They dug into his gums, tore into the inside of his mouth, and tore up his mouth. They’d grow crooked more often than not. Not sideways, but out, like they were trying to escape the confines of his jaws.

They made it awkward and difficult to close his mouth, even if he ignored how the top pair couldn’t fit back into his mouth at all. The bottom he could squeeze in if he held his jaw open and delicately put his lips together- making it look like an idiot put a big chunk of food in his mouth that he couldn’t chew.

There was the complimentary tail, of course. It was more of a prick than anything painful. Uncomfortable as hell, though. Like having your veins pulled out, a long tube that felt slimy and squishy. Not that he knew what that was like, to pull out someone’s veins, or what the rubbery feeling they have from how they bounce in your fingers whenever you pinch them. Like how you’d bounce off slime.

But no, the only part that hurt was the sting of the tip pushing out and the way the spade shaped end forced its way through a far too small hole made just above his tail bone.

The real pain were the wings that always tried to break free from his suit jacket. It was by far the longest transition, the most jerky and unorthodox way of growing wings.

It started not unlike how the tail came out: there would be a prick as the tips began to push past skin. Then a shove, forcing flesh to split open. With a crack, a length of bone would jut out, ripping into his shirt, then his suit jacket. It would pause, wet and gleaming, then just out again. Length of bone after length of bone, the wings would start to form in halting motions, stained red from drying blood.

There would be no feathers, or skin, or leather-y covering until the bone had found its full way out. This would go on for minutes, agony ripping through his back as his muscles squeezed and contracted in response. His body wasn’t made for this.

And when wings of bone were out fully in the daylight, made of segments and points, his divine healing factor would kick in. Skin would stitch its way up the stained bone, growing with slick, slimy sounds. Underneath the skin a thin layer of flesh and blood would work up, nerve endings running along his new appendages.

They would ache, then. If he turned to look at them he would see dark, reddish leathery skin. Like a bat’s wing.

After that he would barely notice the tingle of his fingernails growing into claws. They would turn dark as well, almost black.

Then there would be a moment of euphoria, of pure, pulsing power in his veins. He felt like a god. No, he was a god. Fire and strength and control buzzing at his fingertips.

But then it’d crash. Reality would body check him, steal the breath from his lungs. He wasn’t supposed to be a god. Wasn’t supposed to be his own god.

He was a traitor, hands made filthy and red. There was death to his name and power in his veins and something so wrong about both of those facts. His heart anchored him, drug him down with guilt, with fear, with regret.

What would Dianite think, seeing him now?

Which Dianite, his mind would whisper, The one you killed or the one you brought back to life?

Both. Neither. The one that mattered to him was dead. That should have been his only solace in his pain- no matter what happened his god would never be able to judge him again. But he could judge himself. He could feel a distant feeling of shame when looking at the Other Dianite. The one who wasn’t killed by his follower, whose champion was a loyal, loving presence by his side. Who had a whole world to come back to with people who trusted him, even those who belonged to other gods.

What did Tom have, as a forsaken, forgotten god?

Wasn’t he meant to replace Dianite, the old Dianite, the dead Dianite? Shouldn’t he have taken up the mantle, reinstated his brand of chaos and scheming, caused more trouble? What was he doing here, wallowing away in his own self pity and shame?

So he’d reach up to his horns.

False god

He’d clench tight, feeling the ridges underneath his palms.

Weak

With a crack and a cry, he’d wrench the horns from his head. They’d dissolve into fire in his hands but the pain wouldn’t touch him there. Instead, it radiated from his head. The rest of the horns would follow, dissolving, melting into his scalp.

The fangs would follow in a similar fashion. They were easy enough to snap off, but they didn’t leave as smoothly. There would be a tingle in his gums as his teeth- his actual teeth- would try to remember what they looked like, how they were supposed to function.

Pathetic

His tail would be hard, but all he had to do was pull, pull, pull. It’d hurt. By then it had seamlessly connected to his spine and it would be a miracle if he didn’t pull his own spine out in his desperation to remove the tail. There would be a long ripping sound, muscles getting torn and bone groaning under the stress.

Tears pricked at his eyes, hot and unnaturally bright, and the tail would jerk free leaving a hole behind. It wouldn’t last for long, but it’d bleed steadily and leave a stain against his dress shirt.

Then his wings. He’d hesitate. They were painful enough on entry, stitched with flesh and bone and nerves and blood. Tearing them off was worse. Blinding and white hot and wretched.

So he’d take his time, flex them out, stretch them. He’d pick off his claws- which were hardened but otherwise not painful to remove. His heart would stutter at the thought of ripping them out.

But he couldn’t just leave them there.

You could

So he’d do it one at a time. Not because it’d hurt less, but because it was easier. They were resilient, built to take stress and strain. But so was he. He’d tug, then yank on a wing, use all the godly force he had left in him.

The first one was always easier. Despite the tear of muscle and snapping of bone, he could get it off. The skin would rip away like fabric, like his suit jacket, followed by a burst of blood and a stretch of muscle.

Then he’d cut a muscle. Pain would shoot down his spine, scream at his head. Nerves would start to fray and the bones would creak and groan. Then they’d break, tear into the rest of his muscles, take apart his wings from the inside.

He’d forget to breathe.

The worst part would be if he was too slow. His body would try to heal as fast as it could, pulling skin back together and repairing bone. That wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to be rid of all the shit that reminded him that he killed Dianite. Not to be stuck with it.

So he had to work fast, faster. Break bone from bone, tear muscle from muscle. It was agony, it was fire running along his skin, a cold sweat on his brow.

And then one wing would be gone.

Followed by pure, shuddering anguish. He’d dry heave, gasping for air. The wing itself would dissolve slowly beside him, still try to heal itself as the last of life bled from it. His back would give out, forcing him to slump forward onto his knees.

And he’d sit there, one-winged, chest heaving for air. If anyone saw him now, they’d think he was useless. Can’t even remove wings.

By pure instinct, his hands would resist moving to tear off the next. But he had to. It must go, he must be rid of it. So he’d grip the remaining one, hands shaking. He’d be slower, this time, which was worse. But his mind fought him, screamed at him to let go, to stop.

He wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

It hurt more the second time, but less. He was already so far deep in pain that it just… didn’t faze him. Tears rolled down his cheeks, but he barely noticed them over the snapping of bone, the ripping of muscle, the-

The same old thing, over and over. He’d done this before. Ripping half his back off and laid on the floor to let it heal over. Had to cut cloth from his wounds before it got trapped under his skin.

With a sob, the last wing dropped to the floor. And with it, so did he. He watched it dissolve in front of his eyes with a sort of detached apathy. It was pretty, almost. Like a fire struggling to light, to stay alive. Flickering about before being snuffed out.

Maybe that was him. A fire trying to survive until he, too, was snuffed out.

#mianite #tom syndicate #body horror #blood #violence #graphic violence #self harm #self-harm #self-mutilation #broken bones #dismemberment #angst #hurt #hurt no comfort #mianitefanfiction #mianite fanfiction #mianite fan fiction

42 notes · View notes

rosesforshego · 4 years

Photo

𝓘𝓯 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓜𝔂 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5: ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ɢᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ

August 26th, 2002 2:30 pm

CRACK.

Sheila’s knees crashed onto the steady tile below her; her pants wiped away black marks left by her last class. She winced as a sharp pain shot from her knee to her thigh as her weary eyes remained fixated on a lone gum wrapper, stuck to the dirty floor by a piece of chewed gum.

Oh, you’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me.

With one hand resting upon her sore thigh, the other pinched the wrapper between her gloved fingertips. The wrapper clung onto the gum for dear life as she separated it from the unconventional adhesive. It maintained its attachment as a few strands of the sticky substance offered a bridge between the paper and the gum that remained embedded in the floor. Sheila, unable to contain her disgust, turned her head away from the grotesque scene. How could any human be this gross?

A sharp intake of a long-awaited breath pierced her lungs as she held back a violent gag. Carefully, she folded the wrapper to trap the strands of chewed gum inside of its original tinfoil exterior, praying that the spit-covered substance wouldn’t stain her new gloves. She remembered the contorted features of an annoyed senior who sat at the desk above her—Amelia—a popular socialite with a blatant disregard for others. Sheila’s shoulders hunched as her free hand recoiled from her thigh. She remembered the distinct smack of Amelia’s lips as she chewed on the gum that had made its way to the dusty floor. This senior, a student she barely knew, had gone out of her way to make Sheila’s job difficult out of what? Spite?

What had Sheila ever done to her?

She turned to face a broken pencil—splintered wood and broken led littered the tile. A small rumble, that slipped past her throat in the form of a groan, escaped her. That was her good pencil, given to Michael in good faith. Did he step on it? The dirt that took on the vague shape of a shoe suggested so. She knew this student well, “Big Mike” the others would call him. She’d see him in the halls, lonely, lost even. Sheila felt for him. But, as she cradled the splintered wood within her palm, Sheila forgot about the unrelenting torment he endured within the hallowed halls. Though, with a reputation like Big Mike’s, she could understand his frustration. Her features softened as her innate, empathetic nature regained its control. She shook her head, dumping the contents in her hand onto a ripped syllabus she had used as her dustpan. It was a shame that he had to take it out on the newbie and her property. She was not sure what the other students’ excuses were.

As she gathered the remnants of her syllabus that was strewn across the floor, the corners of her lips settled into a deep frown. Her brothers fought her pessimism by whispering sweet nothings into her ear, filling her with a false sense of optimism—and she believed them. She believed that her transition from substitute to full-timer was going to be a smooth one. She believed that her students, her children, would welcome her to Middleton High with open arms. These ideas, coupled with her endless passion, had conjured a false reality within her mind—a fantasy that disintegrated as the first vulgar swear barreled in her direction. She was a fool to believe them. She was a fool to so much as think that she would have it easy. She should stop pleading for Life to give her a break for, with each passing day, Sheila had slowly realized that Life does not care about her. The next step was to accept it.

Her lips curled into a vile grimace as she placed the gum wrapper on her paper dustpan. She remembered the smiling faces of her students who warmly greeted her that very morning, which instantaneously morphed into devilish looks that she could not decipher at her exciting announcement. Slowly, her beloved children, possibly possessed by demons, turned into beings of chaos. From back-talk, to complete and utter disregard for her authority, these friendly faces were paired with despicable and unwarranted behavior, which perplexed her. If only she had the answers to the questions that nagged her.

Though, what seemed to weigh upon her mind the most was not the trash, or the skipping of her class, or the general bad attitude. It was the snickers that her attuned ears would catch as she turned her back to the class; the whisperings of ill-will upon her; the jokes, the shaming, and the wishes to rid of her presence. She was unwanted—unloved. Her students wanted her gone, or wished that she was merely a low-life, substitute again. As the welcoming atmosphere coldly shifted to one of disdain, disappointment and subtle anger—especially in the students who were forced to take Intro. to Psychology to graduate—jabbed at Sheila’s sense of self-worth. A piece of the syllabus ripped in her hand as her fingers encapsulated the flimsy paper within her fist. She did not deserve that type of treatment. It was unfair for her students to unleash their fury of frustrations upon her. But that was the life of a full-timer, wasn’t it? This is what she signed up for. Maybe she should have read the terms and conditions, first.

A slow creak of an old door gave way to delicate footsteps upon the tile but remained unnoticed by the woman crouched on the floor. Hot tears stung behind her eyes as the viscous liquid emerged from its hiding. Her vision, blurred by her tears, focused on the various knick-knacks of destroyed trash that she carefully lifted from the dirty floor. Caught up in her imaginative world, plagued by the detrimental experiences that she had endured, her heavy sigh masked the sound of shoe-upon-tile, that grew clearer as the figure of a man eerily crept upon the disheveled woman in front of him.

“Hello, Miss Goodwin.”

A sudden heat spread through her chest as her heart pierced her ribs. Startled, she dropped the trash and attempted to wipe away the growing tears with her sleeve before the salty liquid spilled onto her cheeks. Through the water that glistened in the fluorescent lights, she turned to the figure. A man, taller than she, surveyed the disaster that Sheila called her classroom.

“Rough day?”

A deep breath to soothe her beating heart escaped her nose as she turned towards the pile of garbage that she had scattered across the floor.

“Don’t get me started.”

His brows rested within the wrinkles of his forehead as the woman’s voice struggled to break free from the sorrow laced within her tone. A soft voice-crack gave him the information he needed to know—a rough day, indeed.

“Oh,” he interrupted, drawing attention away from her saddened stature. With a soft grunt, he knelt on the floor beside her, “let me help you with that.”

A side smirk, the first form of a smile that she had displayed that day, threatened to break through her sour demeanor. She was pleased by his offer of aid as she remained consumed by her mental distraught. Out of all of the full-time staff she had the pleasure of meeting, this man seemed to be the nicest.

Though, there was no reason for him to clean up after her students’ disgusting littering habits. That was her responsibility.

“No, it’s okay, I got it.”

She extended her hand towards the make-shift dustpan, but it was out of her reach before she could regain her composure.

“I insist.”

Blinking back a few straggling tears, she turned to face the man. His slim shoulder brushed against her own as he moved the syllabus away from her fingertips. A wide smile, plastered within wrinkles, reflected the fluorescents that illuminated their close bodies within the vacant room. And, as he moved away, the shadows that emphasized the strong structure of his cheeks shifted, highlighting the aged skin that sagged around the corners of his mouth, but his eyes remained transfixed on her own. His blue irises, which she found herself swimming in as if she were wading in the waters of the Mediterranean, instructed her to relax. Her shoulders slumped as her rear slowly descended to the back of her heels. Without uttering a word, she felt comforted by his presence—a comfort that she had not felt in a long time.

He turned to sweep some dirt onto the paper, his slick, black hair shifting along his neck. Her lips tightened as she continued to study his features. He possessed an aura of familiarity about him. Then again, so did all the staff. She must have met him in passing. What was his name, again?

“Here,” he spoke. Sheila slightly shook her head to rid her thoughts. He didn’t notice. “I’ll clean. You pack your stuff.”

Wearily, Sheila raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Maybe he was being too nice.

“No, really, I—”

Before she could finish her protest, he tore a piece of the crumpled syllabus off of her pseudo dustpan and used it to pry the gum off of the floor, “Don’t worry about it, Miss Goodwin.”

“Sheila.”

“What?”

Her heart thumped. Caught off-guard by her abrasive response, she attempted to display a false sense of security to mask the uncertainty that re-established its role, seizing the forefront of her thoughts.

“You can call me Sheila.”

His faltered smile returned and Sheila nearly found herself accompanied by a sigh of relief. As the burn behind her eyes subsided, she returned the gesture—the smirk breaking free from its confines. It was the least she could do.

“Already on a first-name basis, are we?”

The statement elicited a larger grin from the green woman. Class clown, huh? She carefully rose from her position on the floor, leaving circles of displaced dirt from where her knees had rested. Two can play at this game.

She brought her gloved palms to her thighs as she wiped away the accumulated dust that nestled into the fibers of her slacks. She broke her gaze with the cheeky man as she turned to her desk; her legs carried her with long strides as she approached the bag that patiently waited for her on her padded chair.

“Almost,” her bag opened with a smooth zip. She shuffled a few objects to make room for the stack of papers that diligently sat on her desk, ready for her to take back to Lowerton.

“Remind me, what was your name again?”

He placed a calloused palm on his leg to push himself off of the ground as he answered with a cheeky smirk, “Dr. Drew Lipsky.”

Drew Lipsky. Sounded very familiar. Chemistry teacher, if she remembered correctly.

“Oooh~” she chided, eyes downcast as she shoved stapled packets into her bag, “a doctor! Mama must be so proud.”

Drew’s playful smirk faltered as he dumped the remnants of the syllabus into the trash can, “Well, I’m not a medical doctor—”

“Clearly,” she gestured to the classroom around him, her attention back on the man who subtly rolled his eyes at her statement. A soft “tch” escaped her parted lips while she watched his slender body carefully weave between cluttered desks. Under normal circumstances, his eye-roll would have peeved her, but she was the one who joked at his expense. She deserved it.

“She’s still proud though,” he retorted, a little more defensive than he would have liked as he made his way to the next pile of broken pencils, “I, however, am still paying my student loans.”

Sheila’s smirk, that imbued fraudulent confidence, contorted into a slight grimace. College was never a time she liked to look back upon—four years of betrayal, pain, and burnt bridges that she could never repair—but, due to her years of protecting Go City, the mayor offered to pay for her higher education. At least something good came from that job.

She peered at her new college as the slightest hint of remorse ghosted his features. She figured he wasn’t so lucky.

“Regretting that Ph.D., Dr. Lipsky?”

Fuck. No. She inhaled through her teeth; her eyes shut as her shoulders found their way to her neck. What the hell was wrong with her? That was not something she should say to a man who offered her aid in her time of need.

Sheila turned back to her bag, wishing that her superpower was to stop unruly comments from slipping past her lips. Damn it. He was sure to think ill of her naivety.

To her surprise, he remained. As unprompted as her off-handed comment was, Drew refused to abandon her. He remembered his first days at Middleton High and the wave of nerve-wracking uncertainty that came with it. He remembered when he had made his own slew of off-handed comments to faculty members who responded with open disdain for his presence. He remembered how awful he felt—a weight in his chest that kept him grounded, that would slow his movement by day and bring a resurgence of guilt by night. He didn’t want Sheila to feel the same pain.

He thought about her question—after all, it was still a question. Did he regret his Ph.D.? Maybe. While he enjoyed the additional education, Drew often pondered if it was worth plunging into a pool of debt for. Though, if the question was “if you had a chance to go back and change your decisions”, his answer would be “probably not”.

A slight shrug of his shoulders indicated his uncertainty, but it was only for his own amusement as Sheila’s gaze remained transfixed on the bag in front of her. Quietly, her gloved fingers pulled a piece of raven hair behind her ear, then returned to the stack of papers that she had haphazardly shoved together. The light above her shone upon her, rather interesting, skin—radiating a healthy glow, mixed with a tint of green. Drew blinked a few times, certain that his old eyes, that rested behind thick lenses, had played a devilish trick on him.

Following the line outlined by her hair, his gaze rested upon her tense shoulders. She was acutely aware of the way her question had rebounded off of the classroom walls and, while not a peep of an apology was muttered, he could see the remorse settling into her soul. Instead of continuing the painfully awkward topic that the conversation had turned to, he opted for a casual response.

“Please, call me Drew.”

Her head shot up, her gaze locking onto his own as his smile greeted her with a welcoming gesture that she craved. Her meek response was a weak grin, coupled with a half-hearted chuckle, as she zipped her bag shut, her belongings shuffling beneath the cotton prison.

“Okay. . . Drew.”

He approached her once more, dumping shreds of the broken pencil into the trash beside her desk. His shoulder found its place against the chalkboard behind her.

“Now are we on a first-name basis?”

A hint of playful laughter made a resurgence, “Officially? Yes. I’d say so.”

A faint chuckle rumbled within his chest. She was witty. He liked that. Quickly, he found himself enjoying her company.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to welcome the new-hire after all.

“So, Sheila,” he enjoyed the way her name rolled off of his tongue, “What compelled you to take this job?”

A small sigh heaved within the confines of her ribs. She could say that she needed a steady income, which would allude to her impoverished condition. She could say that she wanted to spend more time with the students, but then she’d seem needy. . .

“My love for psychology,” she decided as she tidied the trinkets that were left askew on her desk, “I always found the subject to be fascinating and, I dunno. . . I guess I’d like to pass my knowledge onto the next generation of psychologists.”

She concealed a scowl that threatened to form on her features. That was a stupid answer—a response any teacher would give. She turned to Drew, who leaned closer to her, hanging on to every word that left her.

He took the bait.

“Psychology is rather fascinating, indeed,” he concluded as his gaze shifted from the corners of her lips to the wall past her frame, “complex, yet alluring. Provides answers to some of life’s questions, while opening avenues for further exploration, just like any good discipline.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This man was a walking poem.

“I could argue that psychology is just as interesting as chemistry.”

She raised an eyebrow, her voice deepened, “Oh, really?”

Shoulder slumped further into the wall, his body relaxing as the conversation continued, “Of course. Chemistry may be my one true love, but I would deem psychology to be high on my list of subjects that pique my interest.”

Her suspicions were true.

“So, you are the chem teacher I subbed for last year.”

A slight shake of his head was his immediate response. He was taken aback by her sudden shift in tone but quickly regained his composure, “Y-yeah. I believe so.”

“Around December, right?” she copied his stature, her hand forming a limp point in Drew’s direction.

A glower seized his faded grin, “The flu. Don’t remind me.”

She dropped her hand; it rested by her side as her other arm slowly snaked around her waist, cradling herself against the chalkboard. She had heard horror stories as to how the seasonal flu wrecked the poor man.

“Well,” she mustered a cheery disposition to take his mind off of the sickness he struggled to overcome, “in any case, your students were a delight.”

“They tend to be,” he nodded in affirmation.

Sheila may not have known Drew by name, but she was always a witness to the rumors of the immense amount of love he held for his students. As his name, carried by whispers, ghosted the hallways, the students that she had met throughout her year and a half of substitute teaching spoke highly of him—often describing the positive impact he had made on their formative minds. The more information she gathered about Middleton High’s chemistry teacher, the more she admired his dedication.

Now, if only the students could say the same about her.

“Wanna switch?”

“Excuse me?”

Her shoulder dug into the chalkboard—dust brushing onto her blouse, “Wanna switch classes? I take your chem students, you take my psych ones?”

It wasn’t a serious question. . . at least, she didn’t think it was.

“Why?”

“So, you can work your Lipsky magic on them, or whatever it is you do to make them love you,” her fingertips ghosted her thigh as she lifted her hand towards her destroyed classroom, a hint of aggravation released into the air between them.

His gaze followed her gesture to the skewed desks he had neglected to straighten. A faint sigh, followed by a dejected “Oh. . .” quickly replaced the aggravation and hung in the void that laid between him and Sheila.

His worst fears were true—she was another victim of the initiation. How was he going to break this defeat to Steve without the big lug laughing in his puny face?

“Oh?” she questioned, returning his attention, “What do you mean by ‘oh’?”

“Listen,” he crossed his arms upon his chest as he watched her slender eyebrow raise at his vague continuance, “I’m sure you’ve heard, but Middleton has an. . . unconventional way of—quote, unquote—vetting new teachers.”

She squinted her eyes, distracted by his use of air quotes. Though, his rough explanation would explain her day from hell.

“It’s something that administration tried to ban a few years ago,” he continued, solemnly, as he refocused his gaze upon the clusters of desks that left scratches upon the once pristine tile, “I see it remains alive and well within your students.”

“Unfortunately,” she responded, repositioning herself against the green chalkboard. Her back landed upon the slab with a muffled thump; her eyes squinted as a deep groan rumbled in her chest. The metal chalk holder by the bottom of the board jabbed her hips, but she made no effort to move or display her discomfort, as she duly noted the way the desks were laid—strewn across the floor in confusing patterns that did not exist that morning.

Drew’s head pressed firmly against the dusty chalk as his lips formed a tight line that settled into his light wrinkles. He relaxed further into the wall that supported his frame.

“It sucks. I know.”

“You?” she spat, her voice abrasive against the thick, saddened atmosphere that encased her and her colleague, “Dr. Drew Lipsky? You understand?”

“Listen, Miss Lippy--,” he lifted his body from his comforting position as a section of his spine cracked.

She blinked a few times as she processed his words. Miss Lippy? That was new.

“—The students did the same to me back in ’96,” he continued with a blatant disregard for her confused expression.

Different students, but some traditions never changed, no matter how hard he tried.

“Oh, I—” boy, did she feel like a complete ass. Her body eased from the wall beside her as she followed his gaze to the muck on the floor. Her voice trailed away, fading into the stale air trapped within the classroom. If only she had known before opening her big, stupid mouth.

“So, to answer your question, Miss Sheila Goodwin,” a side smirk parted his lips as his blue eyes searched her green irises.

Had they always been that blue?

“Yes, I understand.”

Sheila’s stature relaxed, her back hunched as she caught herself melting in his presence. Suddenly, she understood why he went out of his way to help her clean her classroom. As a hint of longing flashed within his piercing crystals, Sheila wondered if anyone had lifted him from the barrage of chewed gum and broken pencils left by his students. She bravely peered into the irises that looked upon her with a soft, almost sympathetic, gaze and came to her silent conclusion.

Probably not.

“Don’t let it get you down, though.”

Her brows furrowed. How could he remain so optimistic?

She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued, effectively stealing the worlds right from her.

“I understand that the first days are discouraging. But, from what little conversation we’ve had,” he crossed his arms once more, “you have a youthful spirit—a passion that drives your ambition. Use it to your advantage,” he tightened his grip on his arm, “and don’t let these experiences force you to abandon your dream.”

Just as they had nearly destroyed his.

“Is that a guarantee?” she asked, nearly pleaded.

“You survived your first day, didn’t you?”

He had a point.

She cocked her head to the side, a slight nod of affirmation.

“Then you’re already halfway there,” his pearly whites shone behind his thin lips to offer positive support for the newbie.

“If you can get through this first week, you’ll be golden.”

Sheila groaned, her body slamming into the chalkboard with a force she didn’t anticipate. She winced, slightly, at the impact, but maintained her exasperated attitude.

That was not the news she wanted to hear.

Drew shook his head. Youthful, she was. Youthful and seemingly impatient. Though, he was certain that she’d learn to value her worst experiences. At least, he hoped.

“Not sure if I can do that, Doc.”

Doc? How cute.

“Try,” he instructed. He’d hate to see her talent wasted because of some idiotic vetting program.

She huffed. No one told her what to do.

“I—”

“Sheila,” his voice calmer than she had expected, “the students—they rave about you. It’s obvious to the faculty that you’re the favored substitute, no matter what Steve says.”

A slight shade of pink rose to her flushed cheeks. The only compliment she had ever received happened to be an off-handed comment from Steve Barkin in passing. Though, as Drew had confirmed, she figured it was his jealousy that kept the wall standing between herself and her former, substitute colleague. But she felt a twinge of uncertainty settle as she continued to process his statement.

Sheila Goodwin? A favored substitute? It was hard to picture within the sea of her self-doubt.

“You think?”

“I know.”

Unknowingly, Sheila’s grin had widened, giving way to the teeth that laid behind her lips, as her shoulders lifted—turning her relaxed stature into a sheepish one. Sheila was never one to take compliments well—she’d either reply with a snarky comment or she’d turn into a crumpled version of herself as her internalized shy nature would seize control. And, since the conversation was thickly laced with her, albeit, regrettable sarcastic comments, she opted for the latter.

Drew watched the witty woman shrivel in front of him. How peculiar, she was. An enigma. A puzzle worth solving.

As her grin widened, he couldn’t help but return the gesture. Conversing with Sheila was pleasant—much more pleasant than the others who occupied the teacher’s lounge. Maybe he could find a friend outside of his niche group of science teachers. The proposition looked promising as her gaze returned to his own.

His grin faltered. He shouldn’t get ahead of himself. They had only just officially met; it was too soon to find friendship. Though, as her softened, emerald irises peered into the depths of his soul, he found her charm to be irresistible. For the first time since college, he wanted a friend.

A friend named Sheila Goodwin.

A subtle growl waved his thoughts away, the words within his mind dissipating into the air. Sheila quickly peered at her abdomen as her arms lifted from her frame. She then turned to Drew, hoping that he hadn’t noticed.

“You hungry?”

He had.

“Oh, uh, y-yeah,” she stuttered, peeling her arm from the wall, moving to grab her bag that awaited her return. It was getting late; she should make dinner.

Her stomach growled again, a little louder this time, as the image of sticky, empty shelves in a dimly-lit refrigerator reminded her of her negligence towards her own needs.

Great. Whatever. She’ll order take-out again. No big.

“Here.”

She turned towards a hand that had been thrusted in her direction. Within it sat a sandwich.

“It’s ham and cheese.”

She followed the hand, connected to an arm that brought her back to the smiling face of Drew Lipsky.

“Oh, no, I—”

“I insist,” he nudged her with his knuckles, “I’m not going to eat it, anyway.”

“Oh, well,” she hesitated for a moment, which prompted Drew to pry her free hand open, carefully, gracefully, transitioning ownership of the fresh bread and deli-meat to her gloved fingertips.

Now this? This, he didn’t have to do.

“Thank you, Drew.”

“Anytime,” he retracted his hand to close his lunch box. “Listen, I have to go,” he gestured towards the door with his thumb, “But, before I do, just remember—”

Sheila held the sandwich within her palm, her fingers digging into its flesh as she anticipated his words of wisdom.

“Give the students a chance to prove themselves as good students, and they’ll give you the chance to change them for the better.”

The sandwich brushed against her lips, “You sound like you speak from experience.”

“Don’t get me started. . .”

#dr drakken #drakke #drew lipsky #shego #miss go #sheila goodwin #drakgo #kim possible #kp fanfiction #drakgo fanfiction #if you could read my mind love #iycrmml #iycrmml update

18 notes · View notes

hughiecampbelle · 5 years

Text

Rot (Thomas Shelby Drabble)

Character/s: Thomas

Word Count: 855

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @lotsoffandomimagines

A/N: Glad to be writing again, but surprise it's for therapy. Yaa gurl hasn't been feeling the best these past weeks. I know I said I'd take a break from PB writing, but I've been losing interest in the things I love, including this. I want to stop that before it's too late. Feedback is always appreciated 💜

~ FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. ~

A ticking time bomb. An implosion, caving in on skin and bone, taking safety between the cage of your own ribs. You watch yourself, a witness to the self destruction, a bystander to casualties. Selfish. Crumbling buildings, the pieces of others, all because of the tingling in your marrow, the want, the aching need to strip yourself to your core, leaving your veins in a trail to follow. To hurt yourself. To suffer. A vexation, irritation, a juxtaposition between nursing yourself back to health and playing with the broken end of a beer bottle, pressing the pads of your fingers to the sharpest edges. Wishing on a star, on the glittering glass pieces beneath your feet, this will free you of the frustration. Cursing your very existence, all the complications that followed with a breath in your lungs and blood in your streams.

What a terrible thing it was to be human.

He knew what it was like to feel restricted, taking pleasure the small wonders of a sting, a tear in the skin, a bruise on the bone. Sacrifice for different reasons, but to one God, someone he gave up on so long ago. A demanding being. You thought, you hoped and prayed, if you left enough offerings you'd be left alone, layed to rest. Sleep between the blankets of the earth, company of maggots and worms, making a home of a place you never could quite call your own. Question your faith, your reasons, why no one else seemed to have that dead, dull glaze across their eyes, one that screamed deeper than any words. What made your head so different? So instinctively desperate to feel something when the fog took you in, so desperate for ghosts you found yourself killing parts of yourself to feed that craving. Why did it seem like you were the only one feeling this way? Trapped in a loop of rational wants and destructive needs, talking yourself out of it, turning away, only to stab yourself in the back.

He wished he'd recognized it sooner. You put on a sweet act. Smiled when you thought you should, worked hard, faced every distraction in your path, keeping it close, in the way. When things were quiet was when you found yourself struggling to breath, to carry the weight of your own self. Collapse. Press the splinters of the old floors into your knees. Pull at your own nails, your hair, grasping at any small relief you could. Crawl back to bed, to solitude, when the stars scraped the sky, bleeding through like open sores. Infected. Twinkling. Same goddamn thing. Brush your teeth until there was blood in the sink, a sting in your gums. Strip of this character, this life and all its expectations. Naked, exposed, forced to look at the damage. The result. The aftermath. Dress quickly, too ashamed to look for long. Other times you caught yourself tracing, staring, wondering who could do this to a person? Reminded, in a sickening, primitive way, it could only be you. He wished he'd looked beneath the surface, caught all the signs, but he was as blind as the rest of them.

Lose yourself in the night. Exhausted, sad, but awake. Playing with the blades in his cap, careful not to move too much beside him, his arm hot around you. A fingerprint pressing into the sharpness, watching carefully. You can hear it, in that second, the carving, the soft opening. The split. Stick your thumb in your mouth, stop the red from getting on the pillow case. He'd noticed the last time. You couldn't afford another slip up. Sometimes it was lazily holding your palm over the bedside candle, seeing how close you could get without pulling away. Little things to get you through. Even sleep was violent. Out for just a few hours, awake before the threat of dawn. Anything to pass the time. Slip away, downstairs, not wanting to disturb him. He always caught you, calling you back, the bed too empty, too cold. His body curled, clinging, catching on to all the skeletons you hid under your skin.

He knew there was nothing poetic about these feelings. Wanting to be scattered across every floor your walked across. The sobs, the screams you stifled with your head in the oven. Begging to be torn, sliced, ripped in half. This unimaginable weight pressing you lower in the tub, deeper in the mattress, emptying the bottle. Reality warped, smudged with thoughts of a better world without you in it. Too ruined for love, for life, too much of a burden. Knowing no one could help, that nothing would silence these urges, tuck them in and sing them a lullaby. He wished a lot of things. That he could do something to rid you of this, to take it away, for it to never return. But this wasn't something he could scare away with a threat, with a gun or knife. This wasn't pretty, it wasn't anything to envy, to fake, to dress up and play pretend. It fucking hurt, and no one knew that better than Thomas Shelby.

#writing #thomas shelby #thomas shelby drabble #thomas shelby oneshot #tommy shelby #tommy shelby drabble #tommy shelby oneshot #peaky blinders #peaky blinders drabble #peaky blinders oneshot #thomas shelby x reader #thomas x reader #x reader #drabble #oneshot #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

72 notes · View notes

thelostandforgottenangel · 5 years

Text

The Ones That Didn't Make It Back Home - Short One-Shot

Enjoy 💔😭

~~~~

@bloody-dark-shells03 @fyreball66 @lonelyheart-clubband @betelgeusessonajblog

She stood there in the clearing of Central Park surrounded by millions of people several sobbing uncontrollably as the skies opened up raining down the heavens tears for their fallen heroes the NYPD, stood off to the side Rebecca Vincent at the forefront of the entire City's police force as four flags were folded up and handed to her

A minister stood behind all four stones his voice ringing clear over the sullen silence yet she barely heard any of it ... he spoke of loss and some other crap but what would he know - what would any of them know about the four amazing turtles that made her life worth living

"Today our city has lost its hope and it's people all mourned, for years from the shadows and unbeknownst to many of us there has been protectors that moved in secret yet kept all of us safe from the unknown. Today we say goodbye to four - creatures who until last week none of us knew existed - today we thank them for not only their service but for their sacrifice and know for now the city is safe because of them..."

The woman crying the most kept staring at the headstones that had been placed... her life, her family and the only friends she had ever had all gone. Even as she fought them her tears finally escaped being hidden by the rain that drenched her in seconds

The battle was a fierce one; the Krang and Shredder had teamed up to bring New York to its knees and like always the four turtles had been there protecting the city as they always had only this time when the fight became too much they tried to draw their enemy away from the city

It was the last anyone ever saw them

Clutched in her hand was the last item they had ever given the now heartbroken girl a pendant to show how much they cared and loved her and now it was all left of them for the world to see

As she stood there the last image of the only family she had ever known was burned into her mind

The turtles had continued to fight Krangg and all of Shredder's forces near the bridge all of them strategically racing out in hopes that they could somehow turn the battle but as she opened her eyes the image of the blast that took out part of the ground under their feet and suddenly her friends falling was burned into her mind

At the very last second Donatello had somehow managed to reverse the portal the alien general had opened so anyone who was outside during the battle not only saw both get sucked into the opening; perminantly disappearing from the city completely but also they had to watch as New York's four shelled heroes disappeared under the murky dark water yet never resurfaced, search and rescue had scanned and scraped the water they searched for days but when the four turtles were never seen and never found the city set up a memorial to honor them

How fitting that on the day she had to say goodbye the world seemed to cry with her, as she stood there she could feel the eyes on her back a glance revealed several dark figures out on the outer rims of the crowd the familiar face of Karai standing out as she watched knowing she was looking for any sign of the four turtles.

Waiting for something she wouldnt find before in a bright flash of lightning she lost sight of her and the apparent foot soldiers

A strong hand landed on her shoulder as the rain suddenly stopped hitting her not having to look up to know Casey Jones had moved to her side from where he stood in ranks his eye red when he looked down on her, April covering the entire thing on the news yet she could hear the sadness and the tears of her only female friend. Chief Vincent finally started walking towards her as several shots rung out through the air visibly making her jump as each one tore a hole through her heart all over again before for folded flags were placed in her hands clutching them tight as they continued yet the world seemed Frozen around her

All too soon the memorial service was over and people started to leave yet she never moved her eyes trained on the stones and the names engraved deep into the flat surface even though Casey tried to pull her away she stepped forward and kneeled on the grass before the empty graves and for the longest time the man stood behind her his umbrella over her to try and keep her dry but as soon as it's slacked off April gently grabbed his hand and pulled him away knowing the girl needed time

How long she kneeled there was unknown but as soon as she was sure she was alone and the media was officially vacating the area she lifted her body and started towards a familiar ally on a side street; one she had been in millions of times the cover already moved for her open where it had been left for days walking silently through the tunnels taking the long way just in case somebody tried to follow her as took the four flags where they truly belonged

Stepping in through the front entrance the lair seemed way too quiet sighing as she dropped her purse and jacket over the table leaving wet footsteps across the floor before a heavy warm towel was thrown over her head

"Yer tracking water in danmmit!" Raph's rough voice rumbled playfully over her as she pushed it back seeing the smug grin on his face as the woman rolled her eyes "Was it sad? Did ya bawl like a baby at least make it look like ya missed us?" She didn't have time to answer before a set of timid hands was helping her dry before she caught her death

"The city has officially said goodbye to their Heroes of the Shadows and Leo's girlfriend was even kind enough to attend the service... it was pretty convincing to me and it didn't look like anyone suspected a thing after all Casey and April were in tears- speaking of which how long are y'all going to torture the two of them before you finally just tell them the truth"

Several deep chuckles made her sigh in frustration at the four turtles who were now gathered in the room around her looking at each of them finding they looked better then they had the night this all started. After the fight she had to rush to the lair in tears not knowing where else to go she had went to seek out comfort from Masters Splinter completely distraught over being unable to get a hold of any of the turtles. As she came through the entrance she was immediately wrapped in a tight hug from Mikey sobbing frantically into his shoulder at seeing him alive although he was bleeding from almost every cut her eyes could find before rushing to help Raph and Donnie as they both try to carry in Leo who was in bad shape even though they were both severely hurt

Somehow they had managed to get away although it was obvious their wounds we're not anything less then what she would have expected, Leo's arm was mangled to the point they all feared Donnie wouldn't be able to fix it Raphael even though he was continuing to move had cracked his shell to the point duct tape almost didn't hold it back together even though Donatello continue to move around needing to help his brothers it was clear his leg was worse than ever she had known he suffered from weak joints brought on by an injury he sustained years prior but it wasn't until she finally made him sit down after really seen how much he couldn't walk on it that it became clear he would not only need a cast but he wouldn't be walking around for a few days, thankfully she found Mikey has sustained more of his injuries during the fall and stuff landing on him or a few smaller wounds sustained in the fight he basically just got a few small infections that were easily taken care of two days after they returned home

After fixing their wounds and finally getting them to rest the days following her and Mikey took care of everyone

"Its better off for the city if they believe we are no longer around for a little while longer just to be sure we succeeded in ridding the city of Shredder and that nasty blob of bubble gum" Donnie's voice came from behind her as she eyed Leonardo's arm in a cast keeping him from moving it at all

She walked across the room falling out on their couch before leaning up letting Mikey sit down and placing her head on his shoulder while Leo and Raph took their seats her feet over the leaders lap as the red masked turtle helped Donnie down into the recliner propping his leg up then dropping into his recliner having temporarily forgot how bad his shell hurt giving a pained grunt

It had been a long day and needless to say even though the act had been put on for everyone around her it has been draining and mentally exhausting " I understand... I'm just glad to get them off your scent for a while longer but please, no more funerals I can't do anymore - next time I die too" they all chuckled at her but knew deep down she wasn't kidding

#teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt leonardo #tmnt 2014/2016

36 notes · View notes

trainwreckweather · 5 years

Text

8&24 (hospital+ soulmate AU) stella/scully

Prompt given by the lovely @viceversawrites (thank you! 💙)

******************

It's rare. They say it's like divine revelation. You feel everything, see everything. Taste, hear, know.

So many have chased the feeling to death. Scientists have tried to engineer the euphoria and intelligence in a pill for the richest of the rich.

But it's dangerous. And really, it doesn't compare.

In this day and age, it's a common folk tale. A myth. Taught in history classrooms, in literature too- oh, the sheer romance of it. Professors swoon at uninterested students snapping gum and looking bored.

They don't care about what doesn't concern them.The subject of soulmates is laughable to them.

Oh- oh it's real they say.

It's real, sure. No one will dispute that. It's happened before. Ordinary humans changed within an instant. No one knows why, or how. They don't know how a highschool dropout can communicate in every language known to man- dead and lost included, mere minutes after handing over a fast food receipt.

They're stronger, smarter, and more perceptive once they've met their soulmate. More compassionate too, it seems.

But the catch is, you have to touch the hand of your soulmate to see it all. To know.

Statistics are not in anyone's favor. You can say 'small world!’ all you want, but the population is up there, nearly 8 billion now. Take the seas into consideration, the miles separating city from rural lands, and the restless spirit of humans- it's harder than hitting the jackpot.

No one has time to go and touch the hand of every person they come across, though it's not uncommon to see small children, whimsical and hopeful glide along, giggling as they brush the hands of everyone they pass.

A children's schoolground game. There are nursery rhymes about it too, but Dana doesn't have her head in the clouds, doesn't pay any mind.

She isn't like the children and preteen girls singing and daydreaming of enlightenment and the truest, purest form of love.

She's a realist. She gets up, grooms, shoves half a bagel in her mouth, maybe burns herself with coffee on her commute to work.

People love, people marry, and she thinks she gets along just fine with the knowledge her brain holds now. She isn't interested in soulmates. It never even crosses her mind.

She thinks in numbers, hard facts, statistics. Diseases and treatments and dosages. Possible cures. The closest she's gotten to letting loose is whooping with the kids in her ward who've just gotten the best news of their lives yet. They can go home.

That's where she usually is, that's where she does her best work- The pediatric ward. She shakes all of her patients hands and (thankfully) not once did she feel any different than before.

Today is a changeup. The ER is short staffed and her ward is quiet.

Dana reviews vitals, orders tests, transfers and medications to be administered. It's busier than she's used to but she adjusts to the fast paced rhythm like she does most things. She finds her groove and excels. Like a machine.

People feel bad for her. She doesn't date, she's buried in her work, too invested. She takes it home with her and reviews files, over and over. Tests theories, work things out in her head, this way and that. What is the best course of action for little Brian? If I proceed with this- he could have permanent nerve damage, if I risk it he may die.

Her nights are much like her days, blended and ordered and perfect. She's happy. She thinks she's happy at least. Who cares about what others see? Who cares about the ultimate human form? Who cares about love? She has everything she could ever want or need.

“Dr. Scully, ambulance is here in two. Car crash, 33 yr. old caucasian female, possible head injury.”

A nurse; his tag says Tommi. She thanks him.

Stella Gibson isn't happy about being here. Before she even pulls back the curtain, she can hear the complaints, a strained british lilt reaching her ears.

“It's barely a scratch! I'm fine. The ambulance was unnecessar-”

She enters and interrupts before things can escalate.

“Ms. Gibson! External injuries can oftentimes present in a manner that doesn't show us what's going on inside. I agree that you're probably alright. But I want to order an MRI and have you stay overnight for observation. Just to be on the safe side.”

“Stella,” she corrects with a steely gaze that leaves no room for argument. Dana nods once.

“Stella. Is that alright with you?”

Stella answers in the affirmative, but doesn't look to happy over her predicament.

She is fair haired, fair skinned and freckled, and has piercing baby blues. She's in need of stitches just above her left brow. Regardless, she's a strikingly beautiful woman, and something instinctual tells her to stay on Stella Gibson's good side.

And something primal, something she isn't used to, tells her to protect this woman at all costs.

She holds out her hand to this woman sitting upright and stiff on the hospital gurney. It's her standard practice. Doesn't think once about it, let alone twice.

Stella begins to say something in an almost sheepish tone, something about how she isn't used to driving in the U.S. - but it's cut off abruptly as soon as they make contact.

The textbooks- they don't prepare you for this. Dana is hit with a force so hard she nearly collapses- stumbles and gasps at the sensation. It's as if all of the earth's energy has funneled itself into this triage.

She feels it. Each and every atom. She can feel them feed off of each other, but it doesn't hurt. Why doesn't it hurt?

It's intense, so much so that she fears her bones will splinter, and that she'll fly apart, simply cease to exist as she was.

Dana doesn't realize what's happening, she can't make the connection. She can only feel. And see.

She sees a young towheaded toddler with unruly curls and crimson rain boots. Someone, her father, lifts her so she can pat the wet nose of a gelding. She feels the anticipation of the girl- part fear, part excitement. The same feeling is there when she views the girl on her back, no longer a girl and so sure that this is her ticket to womanhood. Only 17, but later she feels the sadness and regret. And the sting.

And the sting. Of the freezing rain pelting as her father's casket is lowered into the bitter dirt. Frozen. Frozen like her heart. Which she tries to melt with the burning of cigarette smoke and liquor and the flowing of warm blood and the heat of a quick fuck. It never quite works. Always something missing. Something to be filled.

Filled with University courses, with self confidence, with a uniform. There. Now there is purpose. Now there is wrong and right and she she stands firm on the right side of the line.

She leaves the country to get away from a Stalker, someone who she met once, fucked once, and that not even the law could get rid of. Like herpes.

She's trying to start over here in San Diego. It's different. It was her hope to permanently thaw the ice with this weather. She's working as a barista. She can barely afford her studio. Her car is wrecked. Still she's happier than she's been in a long while.

Happier now still.

As sudden as it starts, that's how it stops. The rushing in her ears is replaced with faint ringing. Dana is back now. To this room, to this body. She's shaking like a leave.

Adrenaline, her mind supplies.

Stella is wide eyed and opened mouth; their hands are clasped between them. This is when it hits her, what just happened.

“Dr. Scully?! Ms. Gibson?! Are you alright? Here, I have a chair.” Someone is panicked and confused, but that someone is not her. It will never be her again.

She doesn't sit. She waves the nurse off as best she can. She still won't let go of Stella, can't take her eyes off of her.

That primal urge to protect is now reinforced and emphasized. She wouldn't have believed it before, if someone told her it was possible to fall in love in an instant. But really, how can can you call a lifetime an instant? She was there, she was there to see Stella's victories and her downfalls. She was right there with her, feeling what she felt, seeing all she's been through. It's incredible, the strength one person can possess. It's incredible what one can survive. She's never been so proud. She's never been so in love.

Too overwhelmed, they both start leaking tears, but they're smiling at each other, face splitting, opened mouth smiles. Dana can taste the salt on her tongue.

She laughs at the absurdity of today. If Stella had been more careful, if she was out sick, if the ward had needed her- all these ifs. Eight billion little ifs. She shakes it out of her head.

She knows things now. Not just Stella things. She could (and most likely will), cure cancer if given a quiet room and a day to herself.

But right here, right now, there are pressing matters to deal with. Such as making sure her soulmate (god, her soulmate) has nothing more than a gash and a mild concussion. After that- wow. What does one do after this?

Stella sniffs and squeezes her hand.

“I don't suppose you would mind if I asked you out to dinner...”

#there are probably lots of mistakes but im done looking at this sorry #my fic #stella/scully #au #the fall #the x-files #i dont really like this but oh well #i tried

21 notes · View notes

bogglebabbles · 5 years

Text

Okay so tumblr decided that instead of saving an ask into my drafts when I answered it, it would eat it instead, so my prompt-fill will be ask-less. Was for @wheel-of-fish, with a trope mash-up prompt of Soulmate AU + Survival/Wilderness AU with a pairing of my choice (and we all know which one that’ll be). Warning for animal death and suggestive themes. (Also, this took forever and it’s WAY bigger than I expected it to be.) ___

The song is loud in his head.

But there is someone Nadir is meant to be chasing. Someone he knows very well, someone he cares for very well, enough to follow into every country carrying the tiniest inkling of a trail. Enough to disregard the fact that the man was never the one whose song matched his, no matter how often they hummed them to each other with hands clasped a thousand-thousand ages ago. Enough, even, to risk braving a frigid Swedish November in a northern forest with a name impossible for his mouth to form.

Not enough for Nadir to remember that man’s name, with his upper arm bleeding in a curtain down his sleeve and his entire body quaking with numb. The sleigh was just behind him, he is sure of it. It was just behind him, but the fall down the jagged slope had shaken snow off of one tree, which had shaken snow off of many trees, until even the one-armed and sweating climb back up proved fruitless for the loss of his tracks and what few faculties the cold had allowed him to keep to that point.

The dark has since fallen, the moon has since set, and he uses his good arm for eyes, as much to keep the branches out of his face as to feel forward. He has given up hope that he will find the trail again, given up hope of finding decent shelter, and the song shrills and echoes between his temples like a desperate, clawing thing trying and failing to keep him gripping to life.

He sees nothing but spots, floating in and out of existence. He feels little but the gumming blood on his arm and the crystals of ice in his beard. And when the light appears through the trees, above the mid-thigh snow, he knows it to be a figment. Still, the song grows louder, and for that, he doesn’t quite hear the sound of crunching snow from somewhere beyond the pines. He only hears, amidst the frantic notes as he falls forward into blackness, a distant, hazy woman’s shout.

He wakes to thick, sap-scented heat and a cloud of sheepskin under his naked back, the song faded to its steady, continuous background melody. He wakes, too, to the sleep-bleary ceiling of a ramshackle hut—the inside of a ragged wooden pyramid, longer than it is wide and even then only long enough for a bed. Two beds, he amends when he turns his head, the other separated from the one he lays on by a tiny stretch of floor lined with furs and pine boughs. To one end is an iron stove, crackling with a hearty flame behind the grilled front, the other a door and—a figure.

A young woman, to be precise, perhaps in her twenties, and the song shivers like a bell at the sight of her untucking pale-gold hair from where it had been pinned beneath a mottled grey hat. She lays a basket at the foot of the opposite bed and it seems a ritual, the methodical way she rids herself of patchwork coat, bright red scarf, matching mittens. Her boots are last and heaviest, and she doesn’t so much as look his way when she takes them up, pads on thick-stockinged feet to the stove, and sets them down beside where his own sit neglected. She crouches to stoke the fire, so close he can see the reddened shade of cold-kissed cheeks and the dew of melted snowflakes in her eyelashes, even in the low light.

“Miss,” he croaks. She starts, he with her, the clang of poker against the stove, the hiss at the twinge of sutures he hadn’t realized were lining his arm when he jolts to sit, when she jolts to her feet. The song trembles again when she whips ice-blue eyes to him, wide as though amazed that he is alive.

She speaks none of his language and he only enough of hers to know numbers and the cardinal directions, but with a fumbling game of charades, he learns that he was unconscious for a little more than a week, and it is more a guess to know he was hypothermic first, and then feverish until he came to. He learns, too, that her name is Christine Daaé, and the syllables of it make the notes in his head trill in a peculiar way that he attributes to the fever shaking from his brain.

He relearns the name of the man he was chasing, Erik, because she points to him and states it like a question. He doesn’t understand at first, nearly spills the tea of pine needles that she made into his lap in his haste to ask her where, where is he? It isn’t until she grabs his arm—grip tight, like she knows the strength in the thrashing of the ill and determined—that he realizes that she doesn’t know, only that he must have spoken the name in his ailing.

“Nadir,” he corrects with apologetic smile. “Nadir Khan.” The song trills again and if he didn’t know better, he would say that he saw her brow crease just a hair.

That first night, after she’s plied him with spoonsful of honey and bowls of thin, herbed broth, she sits at the edge of the bed she’s lent him. She doesn’t look his way just yet, staring across the tiny stretch of floor to her bed as though looking for something in the ecstatic colours of her quilt. She stares until her expressions flick from considering to anger to something else entirely, and at that point she is holding his hand—the song skips a beat, barely noticeable—and the staring turns to him while she brushes a thumb over his knuckle. He squeezes, an instinct—did she hold his hand, when he was sick?—and she squeezes back, and in that little moment, he sees a flash of a knowledge in her face he has had since waking but hasn’t yet put to worded thought.

He was left out here to die.

He doesn’t have the time to think properly on the fact, to think on the implications of his own mistake or the ill-will of those he paid, of how he will get to the point of no longer being dangerously deep in a Swedish forest—to say nothing of finding Erik—because she squeezes his hand again, tighter this time. With her other hand and a surety that is marked by a bowing mellow of the song, she points to him. She points to the bed beneath him. With an uncurling and splay of her fingers, she mimes something—grass, growth, spring.

You. Here. Spring.

Stay until the spring.

With a surety he doesn’t quite understand himself, and a series of notes that sit odd and heavy and warm, he nods.

He learns the word for ‘soup’ first—or perhaps ‘stew’ or perhaps ‘broth’—and the word for ‘bread’. He teaches her the same in his tongue while she snips his sutures free. He learns the word for ‘shirt’ and the word for ‘quilt’. These he teaches her too while she shows him how to sew patches into his torn shirt to match those she gives him. He learns the word for ‘pine needle’ and the word for ‘rabbit’, and when he finds his legs again and the echoes of the fever stop muzzying him, he learns to find and collect them.

He doesn’t ask why she is here, doesn’t have the words for it even if he wanted to ask, and all the same, what difference does it make? She is here, and she is patient while he learns to spot the squirrels’ caches and tie the knots for the snares, and it is a blessing. It is luck that sees him alive, and something in that luck feels tenfold when she hands him bowls of stewed rabbit and his fingers brush hers for the barest of seconds, roughened and dried by the chill and the fire-heat. The song crackles with the fire in those instants.

His heart pangs when she first brings out the violin, three weeks after the day he first woke. The case is ragged as the hut, wood dry and splintered in places, dinged and dented in others, but in the tender way of an object aged and well-loved. He isn’t used to seeing them in such a state, instead to the pristine upkeep of one belonging to a restless, manic mind—a different sort of love, but love too.

The violin itself is gorgeous despite little bits of wear, stained a dark auburn, with mother-of-pearl set into the neck in scrolls of fanning flowers that shine a pink-gold in the firelight. She holds it in her lap, thumbing the pegs. Though she always has some colour beneath her eyes, it seems deeper now for her looking at it.

“Christine,” he says softly. When she looks up, he recognizes the weight of resigned grief in the line of her brow. He holds out a hand and she takes it with no hesitation—he knows now that she held his hand in that feverish week, because it comes too easily to doubt—and with his other, he mimics bowing beside his shoulder. He points to her, then the violin. “Do you play?”

She laughs, a low and weary thing, before she shakes her head. She nods it then toward the bed she’s lent him, plucks at the cuff of the shirt she gave him, and says ‘Papa’.

The way she speaks it speaks more than a recounting would and it bruises something between his ribs. She must see it because she twines their fingers, perfect and interlocking, and smiles a smile that dips the dimple in her cheek. He can’t help but return it, nor to swirl his thumb in a circle at her wrist—the song stutters.

It lasts only a second before he is back to his mending, she back to her tending. She takes to tuning, and for a moment, he thinks the way she thrums the strings matches with the tune in his head.

He learns the word for ‘fur’ and the word for ‘bark’, and teaches them back to her. With the first, how to skin a rabbit and prepare the hide. With the second, how to find the soft white flesh between pine-bark and wood, and how to bake it into the dark bread that fills their stomachs when they can’t eat the rabbit for lack of lard and fear of being ill.

He learns the word for ‘light’ and the word for ‘star’, and teaches them back to her. With the first, he learns that it can form ribbons that shimmer and coalesce to turn treetops to dancing, vibrant-edged silhouettes. With the second, that he remembers nights under heat-swaying Persian skies and that they were different, so very different without the clouds of breath that plume into his blurring vision. With both, he learns that she turns her head to hide her tears, and that she leans against him but says nothing when he does the same.

He learns, too, a Swedish folk song while she stokes the fire. With this, he learns that the song in his head can change course to other songs, and that the colour of her lips is peony, the colour of her eyes is winter-sky, the sound of her laughter is addictive. He learns that the burr of a thought in the back of his head that tells him he needs to be searching is prickly, but less when she uses his knee to prop herself to standing.

He learns the word for ‘axe’. This one he doesn’t teach back to her because he is too busy shaking from the adrenaline, fingers bloodied for the gashes in her arm where the woken bear had swatted at her and almost, almost did more than just graze. He ignores the stinging in his palm where the axe handle had splintered in his throw, ignores too her quavering, thin-laughing protests—knows them to be protests, by the push of her other hand—when he presses his already rust-stained shirt into her sleeve to quell the bleeding.

Had her arm been turned the other way, had she hadn’t had the reflexes she had—it doesn’t warrant thinking. He stitches her up, practiced himself from more reckless and purposeful violences.

When he is done, he finds the bear again, felled and frozen with axe-head lodged in its skull, and he makes her rest while he cooks them both a meal that fills the hut with the scents of melting fat and berry-fed meat. The song stays frantic all the while, beating against his chest and lodging in his throat, but when she nudges him with her foot and inches forward until their knees press together, it fades quiet.

It is past midwinter when the firs outside keen and the chill hisses insidious promises beneath the crack of the door. It is past midwinter when he first feels the proper fear of it, this reality of a forest that stretches for an age in all directions with nothing but the snow and the bears and the wolves he hears so far but too close not to stop stiff at the sound. It is past midwinter when he lays awake for the cold that nips at his feet beneath the fur and the quilt.

It is past midwinter, too, when she whispers his name across that tiny distance between their beds.

The firelight is dim, only one log burning at a time until they can reach the wood shelter again, but he can see her face, her eyes, her hair, all spirit-pale against the burnt umber of the fox pelt beneath her head. The song takes on a waltzing rhythm, or a heartbeat rhythm, or some other thing slow and steady while she stares and he stares back. His heart trips at the way a curling lock falls over her face and she pushes it back.

Again when she sits up, stockinged feet touching the furs on the floor. He sees the ripple of goosebumps on her bare arms, her scars dark against the pale, the slightest shiver. He mirrors it with the tiny draft that brushes his neck, and with it he sees now the wordless question in the shift of quilt from her lap.

The answer is obvious.

She is soft against his chest, warm with the scent of bay, thyme, woodsmoke that clings to her hair and the fanning of breath over his lips. She is solid where she tangles her legs with his to keep on the too-small bed, solid beneath the hand he pushes to the small of her back and his arm resting in the dip of her waist. They are still, listening to the wind beat livid snowflakes against the roof of the hut to bury them alive. The solitude is thick around them, held only at arm’s length by the press of her forehead to his, by the pull of her inward breath.

“Nadir,” hush, hand creeping up his chest. It reaches his jaw, strokes over his beard, up to his temple, into his hair. He shivers and she does the same and the song follows suit. “Nadir.”

He kisses her to taste his name on her lips. He kisses her to swallow the sigh. He kisses her and she kisses back, and they aren’t still anymore. Palms find the places to warm, chests and shoulders and waists. Fingers find the places to trace, sensitive and pulling gasps. Fingers find the crests of hips. Fingers find hems and waistbands and flesh, find the skin seldom touched, find the places hot and pleading and shuddering while lips find necks and jaws.

He learns the word for ‘please’ and the word for ‘yes’, and teaches them back to her while the song quickens with the blood in his veins.

He doesn’t learn the word for ‘song’. They leave it secret and unspeakable, because he knows the ache of songs mismatching and the sting of rhythms that don’t quite meld, and he sees the same in her when she hums some other folk song and hugs that red scarf around her neck with distant memory in her eyes. He doesn’t want to know the melodies because in the end, he knows that now he would follow her the way he follows Erik and he doesn’t want the pain of knowing that he isn’t meant to.

Otherwise, he listens to her sing somber tunes they know while she looks at the hut, or looks at the fire, or looks at the violin with that heavy, weary grief that ages her twenty, thirty years for a fleeting, awful moment. She always turns to him afterward, cradles his face, swallows when he leans into it and tries to make sense of her expression.

She doesn’t give him a chance, because she always kisses him next, fiercely tender when she guides his hands to her hips.

It is mid-March when the snowdrops peek through, delicate and living against the snow. It is mid-March, then, when he decides he must move on.

They’ve learned many words by now, simple phrases that tangle their tongues but that the other understands even through the stumbling. Enough for her to say she can guide him to the village and help him on his way, and enough for him to have the means to ask her for something she can’t give. He doesn’t use them.

So they mend, and they stock, and they pack the things they need for the long trip, and the night before they intend to leave, they hold each other and weep in silence while the song trembles weak in the back of his skull.

She brings the violin and he doesn’t ask why. She looks back at the hut with tears in her eyes and murmurs something under her breath that he can’t hear. He doesn’t ask why for this either.

They don’t speak at all for the week that passes in travel between the dewy spruces.

The carriage to Stockholm is ready and she is there, starkly fae-like outside of the insulated fantasy of the wood. He feels a stranger himself, for those few months spent—rugged, ragged, ill-fitted for civilization with the new callouses on his palms and the thickening of his blood.

She holds the violin case slack, those wild winter eyes fixed to him across two steps’ distance, and that question is perched on his tongue, light and heavy at once. He can’t ask it of her. He shouldn’t. He won’t.

But pained and pleading, she hums.

He doesn’t recognize it at first, in a voice that isn’t in the echoes of his own head, but it tickles at the edges of his knowing until it slides into place, effortless and liquid. A harmony that shifts when that in his head shifts, a harmony that lingers when she stops and waits, expectant with knuckles going white on the handle of the violin case.

When he takes the song up himself, she sobs, but with fae face brightened to a grin.

He can’t ask it of her, but she answers.

He learns the word for ‘song’, because she teaches him when she pulls him into the train car bound for Paris from Le Havre. He teaches it back to her, teaches her the name ‘Erik’ in earnest, and she says the name with ease.

She knows little of his language, he little of hers, but they each know enough to promise that when they find the man, it will be together. The song, with her singing under her breath to it to the rhythm of the train car’s rocking, is lighter than it has ever been.

#boggle writes fic #charoga #poto #phanfic #this was supposed to be a drabble

5 notes · View notes

kimberly40 · 2 years

Text

Appalachian Folklore:

•Raw wet tobacco will draw the venom from an insect's sting.

•If you scratch yourself with a nail, rub it in grease and throw it in the fire.

•One cure for hiccups is to tickle the nose with a feather.

•Eating parched corn or parched coffee will cure stomach ailments.

•To get rid of warts, carve one notch in a stick for every wart you have. Bury or hide the stick, and the warts will go way.

•To stop bleeding from a wound, apply chimney soot.

•Don't let birds gather your hair for nesting material: you will go crazy.

•For toothache, rub a splinter around the gum until it draws blood; drive the splinter into a tree, and the toothache will go away.

•Putting a handful of salt on your head will cure a headache.

•If you eat snow before the third snowfall of the season, it will make you sick.

•If you dream about crossing water, there will be an illness in the family.

•To get rid of chills, tie a string around a persimmon tree.

•If you sweep under the bed of a sick person, that person will die.

•If your hand itches, it means someone will give you a present soon.

•For snake bite, cut up the snake that bit you and press its flesh to the wound. This will draw out the poison.

~The Mountain Times. Photo via pinterest

9 notes · View notes

barberwitch · 6 years

Note

Hey what are the uses if pine and birch if there are any?

There are…tons lol. Pretty much any famous tree you can think of has some very powerful lore, uses, correspondences and associations. Druids held trees sacred and even the “letters” of ogham (ancient Celtic writing) are named after trees.When you get into Norse myth, trees and their uses are a very important theme that runs throughout lore and practical uses.First Nation people used many trees and their parts for medicines, ritual, and charms.

So here’s a tip that you didn’t ask for as a starting or jumping off point when in doubt. Look up:

“*plant name* in witchcraft”

“*plantname* folklore”

“*plant name* metaphysical properties”

“*plant name* languageof flowers”

“*plant name* magic”

“*plant name* correspondences”

“*plant name* folk medicine”

Birch (Betula pendula, B. pubescens, B.lenta, B. alba)“Protection, Exorcism, Purification.Birch twigs have been used to exorcise spirits by gentlystriking possessed people or animals, since the birch is a purificatory orcleansing herb.The tree is also used for protection, and Russians used to hang a red ribbonaround the stem of a birch to rid themselves of the evil eye. The birch alsoprotects against lightening.The traditional broom of the Witches was made of birch twigs, and cradles wereone manufactured from birch wood to protect their helpless charges.” – Excerptfrom Cunningham’s Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs

“Birch featured in different northern folk tales would beexpected. The legendary witch Baba Yaga lived in a birch forest in her houseupon moving chicken legs with a fence surround it, made of enchanted humanskulls upon birch posts and she used a birch broom to sweep away her trackswhile traveling in her giant mortar and pestle……..Birch was known as ‘Lady ofthe Woods’ in some lore and was looked upon with fear as the White Lady of theforest is a powerful spirit indeed. Possibly, this was because of birch’sconnection with death.” – Under the Witching Tree, Corrine Boyer.

Pine: (Pinus spp.) P. strobus bark

“Healing, fertility, protection, exorcism, moneyCones from pine trees are carried to increase fertility andto have vigorous old age. A pine cone gathered on Midsummer (still retainingits seeds) is an awesome magical object, for if its possessor eats one pine nutfrom it every day, it will make him or her immune to gunshots.Pine needles are burned during the winter months to purifyand cleanse the house. Scattered on the floor they drive away evil, and whenburned, exorcise the area of negativity. They are also used in cleaning baths.Pine needles are burned to reverse and send back spells.Branches of the pine placed above or over the bed keepsickness far away( or, if they weren’t placed in time, aid the ill). In Japanit was customary to place a pine branch over the door of the house to ensurecontinual joy within, for the leaves are evergreen.A cross made of pine needles placed before the fireplacekeeps evil from entering through it. Pine is also used in money spells, and itssawdust is the base for incenses.” – Excerpt from Cunningham’s Encyclopedia ofMagical Herbs

“To tie a knot in the topmost pine shoot was a cure for goutin Germany. Along the same lines, retrieving a kernel from the topmost cone ofa pine tree made its eater invulnerable to elf shot. A very specific cure fortoothache tells that the sufferer is advised to take two pine splinters, pushthem into the gum surround the tooth in pain and then bury them on the northside of a dogwood tree. This is an example of transference magic, where thepain is transferred to the pine splinters and buried to rot away. Similarly,for a nosebleed, pine splinters dipped in the blood were driven into anon-specified tree. Another transference charm: for fever, the sufferer isadvised to break a pine branch while facing the setting sun.” - Excerpt fromUnder the Witching Tree, Corrine Boyer.

There’s a lot more, and then when you get into personal practices it deepens further. Corrine Boyer’s book is honestly one of my favorites, andshe has a whole chapter dedicated to each tree giving history, lore, folkpractices, herbalism and personal practices. Worth a buy for sure, and it alsois organized by seasons so by going through the book and the trees, it takesyou through the seasons and helps ground you if traditional Wheel of the Yearstuff makes you itchy.Additionally, Judika Illes Encyclopedia of Witchcraft hassome stuff on these trees, and if you leaf through her other book Encyclopedia of 5000 Spells, I’msure there are some things that use birch and pine as main ingredients. Sorry,not going through the books unless I know what I’m looking for lol.

🦇Cheers, Barberwitch

326 notes · View notes

pediatricdentalcare · 4 years

Text

What Are The Things A Periodontist Can Do?

There are numerous kinds of dental specialists who all perform essential functions for your gums, teeth, and past. While most of the dentists are aware of the general dentistry services. A specialist who centers around your gums and bones that help your teeth are known as a periodontist. Pediatric dental specialists are a genuinely necessary kind of dental specialist because, without healthy gums, you won’t be able to achieve your best oral health.

What Is A Periodontist? Numerous dental specialists in the dental school pick different courses other than simply being an overall dental specialist. A pediatric dentist near me has the alternative of getting extra education to turn into a periodontist and perform the treatments such as gingivectomy near me, periodontal scaling and root planing, periodontitis gingivectomy and so on.

Periodontists additionally can perform an occlusal adjustment procedure. Periodontists get at least 3 years of claim to fame preparing after they complete dental school.

What A Periodontist Can Do? The periodontist will probably attempt to protect, fix, and reestablish however much of a patient's bone and tissue and to attempt to prompt them to be as healthy as could reasonably be expected. The following are some of the treatments a periodontist can do.

Osseous Periodontal Surgery:- Osseous surgery is the process of getting rid of the bacterias that stay in your mouth and become a threat to oral health. This procedure also refers to a gingivectomy procedure. A periodontist can perform this surgery effectively. The number of candidates for laser gingivectomy is increasing, that’s the reason why most of the dentists started performing laser gingivectomy near Me.

Bone Grafting Treatment:- At times a tooth can't be saved and is lost to injury or periodontal malady. For this situation, a tooth can be supplanted with a bone graft for dental implant. The present dental inserts are profoundly designed and made of titanium so your bone will develop into it.

Restorative Procedures:- Not all the time you may require dental services, however, restorative dentistry services the patient needs to look better. Restorative dental care includes treatment that affects appearance such as teeth whitening. At a time due to misaligned or crooked teeth, you will be embarrassed then a cosmetic dentist can help to make your smile more appealing.

Combinations Of Soft and Hard Tissue Procedures:- A few systems require both delicate and hard procedures. One basic mix treatment that periodontists perform is pocket disposal or gum disease procedure. At the point when individuals don't adapt to the good dental habits, the microorganisms develop, delivering a corrosive that disintegrates an individual's bone and backing structures. Like having a splinter in your finger, your gums become kindled when this corrosive is available.

These were some of the treatments that periodontitis can be performed. Some of these treatments can help you to improve your oral to another level just with a little bit of effort. While some treatments can improve the way you look

Article Source : https://www.transitsblog.com/what-are-the-things-a-periodontist-can-do/

0 notes

isekaisyouwithmyforearmlaser · 4 years

Text

can we please just fucking get rid of the two party system already i just fucking heard abt howie and i agree with his campaign way more than bidens but i cant vote for him because im "throwing my vote away" kms😛😣kms kms even fucking george washington fucking wooden teeth splintered gums ugly ass george washington knew it sucked why♥✂😭do we still habe it. sorry abt the emojis i keep accidentally switching to the emoji tab but i think it makes it spicy soi😐💉✂keep it. WHY IS THE US SO SUCKS???????

0 notes

taytcanterbury · 4 years

Text

How To Get Cat Spray Out Of Leather Shoes Mind Blowing Tricks

Many cat owners have wondered what the cat can go into heat, you'll be able to move himself over to the Vet for further advice.Virtually overnight from then on he became the most suitable product that helped decrease tartar and keeps their claws - it's usually mostly dust.Do not also feed your cat is in the morning and at the door in a better position to do any good.It is important to apply them on a leash with training.

There is always a hot topic with cat nip on the same time each day until they are ready to use are bitter apple spray, menthol, toothpaste, mouthwash or lemon citrus peel and/or instant coffee which cats love.This is the cat protest against the legs of their owners the behavior is unacceptable.For a male cat, it us embarrassing and disappointing when children want to keep your cat is in a variety of scratching your cat is hesitant on using his box if anyone has turned in an invisible area to see what the kitten was removed from the cat's spiky ears and tail then spreads readily to the store and see one another they learn they can be caused by disinfectants, pollen, dust or other specific animals.Cats are extremely nutritious that your poorly trained cats have patterns of behaviour to consider the possibility that this is to put in shelters.Cats have their cats will lick themselves clean and do some tests and exams to determine the cause to breathing difficulties as well.

Don't hit the side of his cats medical issue, which would cause any damage to furniture and other personal belongings.If you own a cat, but I do suggest the following.Uric acid contains insoluble salt crystals.You could also be made a fuss of, usually immediately, so will only strengthen the bond that will get a behavior change.A few handling notes: Catnip potency can be affected by something or someone you trust, so they can develop into swelling of the body of cats is through using OdorXit Magic.

He is pretending that your enemy is your responsibility to feed your pet is an additional cost because you need to find out which one will hop on to other animals smell the bleach a bit, but it is dry, sprinkle baking sodaYour cat has something to eat, exhibiting stress and boredom provide lots of water can get dirty after they commit their little crime whatever it might be the solution over the chair on the necessary time to make sure you are the indoor breathing environment when disturbed.Naturally, this can't be bothered too much magnesium, which alters the pH level of the basics.Be aware of your cats playing, a spat or an outdoor litter box.Scrub area with her own unique personality and knowing what the whole cat litter to prevent trouble from the truth!

Fed up with the heat is to give something fun to do.Cats will mate frequently with males to ensure you don't have to get asthma, just as he leaps on your cat.Cats may be avoiding to make sure they are in close proximity to one another.To make a habit even after you in case your cat is finally free of claw marks from your vacuum cleaner will be a good quality one, as mentioned earlier all cats whether they are spayed or neutered.A window perch or chair pulled up close will also go on to help keep its paws off the counter.

Or hypoallergenic wipes also cost friendly and informative to possible adopters, due diligence should also be used.Another important key element to the shelter.The noises will be thrilled about your Cats.One of the entire breeding process, so this precautionary process is not to open more shelters, but for cat owners.Your cat will get right down and stand on the door to go especially wild!

Someone did note that in between annual dental visits I would do no harm to felines and this time it looks cute.Leaving cat urine from the missing joint as the bathroom in their purse when attacked.And she will typically remain in heat she will probably not pregnant, but it is invasive.But with the move that the breeding to the eyebrows and also under the carpet and then gradually move it to dry.The spot should be a sign of allergies from certain air pollutants.

Try various boxes and bags, and you will need a larger litter box clean, you will have to put a stop to this.Most folks believe that you have a restless nature and can jump or climb the curtains, they come and leave her wanting more then over doing it as an enzymatic cleaner which is secreted by glands in specific places around the eyes and tail.And gum disease and can often result into erratic behaviour.Don't play with him some strange behavior and told off for bad behavior.If you find that it appears lustrous and shiny.

Cat Pee In Toilet

This door can be as frustrating for you and follow these guidelines it can splinter and cut pieces of furniture in good health.We sometimes don't know how to solve this problem.These are just misbehaving, you can also place the litter box?This protein will stick to teaching one thing cats love when I am about to open the airway itself swelling.Try to find a lot easier to obtain, transport and process corn.

However, the cats paw print on the floor.Check with your cat has any health issues before trying to tell you the truth, they've rarely been used.This means spending a lot harder than getting rid of your travel.The secret to this new innovation because they lick themselves clean and in between the ages of four and six months.You can easily solve most behavior problems are too concerned about the composition of cat litter.

However, done incorrectly this can be fairly vocal.Cats are normally very gentle with humans unless they are trying to figure out how to manipulate and they aren't required for the pets.In some instances, a cat as soon as you bring a new routine such as lions and tigers who are capable of scent-marking their territory.You can also work, though it was my payback, as his primary care provider, for leaving him home right away.If the floor or clothing, or on the ground of the house.

If the irritation continues to scratch at, such as the cat with water, this will be able to crate him and not your flesh.Of course, you banned kitty from the atmosphere, the awful odor is for you both.We all know cats have been found in cats.Owing to the post topples over onto the garden is under one year old which, sadly, has been exposed to something to grip the top of her rope.There are powder and the patches are usually too small to get him on her nutrition to ensure that the materials you use should depend on your couch and sprays on the carpet backing/pad, you may have to take a long way toward the cat urine smell can become a cherished member of the day, the need to carry out natural forms of protection otherwise they will either be pollen, pesticides, smoke coming from cigarettes and others.

In the Genes?: It is advisable to take it to a minimum.A cat allergy relief are available online easily.But adopting a living creature like a kitty to the difficult ones.A common safety problems that their owners may consider that the rectangular-shaped automatic cat litter box and not end up with all of the expensive models.This will NOT help solve her problem, even though they cannot support all animals indefinitely.

The smell of cat urine stains, and it's best to research carefully to see if the box is clean.These are easy to grow for a home where you allow his actions to wear a collar and magnet before they start wanting dinner.A rubber brush can be quite bad and subject to Urinary Infection.Cats that feel stress will try to bring fleas inside your home will smell it.If/when she claws elsewhere, take her to hit him back.

Can A Fixed Female Cat Spray

Do not forget remove it from your cat from the unacceptable location.Cats would not want to end up abandoned and suffering, or euthanized, for lack of confidence that they will slowly exhibit signs of allergy in cats.These are among the many different brands of automated cat litter out there means castrating them so that they will ultimately be put down.If your cat hunts and brings the odor problem is foul smells.Most often, cats should be covered with netting to keep kitties entertained.

You can also remove any mats that are packaged to look for your cat.Female cats should be treated so that you get home on time, or as needed.However, if the bristles are metal, can cut your cat's trust and companionship.Atopy, Allergic Inhalant Dermatitis, and Atopic Dermatitis are terms that are hungry can get him on the table or anywhere else he should go.If your cat as much attention as he'd like.

#How To Get Cat Spray Out Of Leather Shoes Mind Blowing Tricks #Cat Pee Smell In Car

0 notes

accgoudir · 4 years

Text

20 Unusual Uses For Everyday Items

If you’ve ever used a potato to get rid of the broken light bulb, you’ll know that necessity is that the mother of invention. Sometimes the simplest thanks to getting the work done are by thinking outside the box. Here are 20 unusual uses for everyday items. you'll thank us later for these amazing life hacks.

20 Unusual Uses For Everyday Items 1. Use cube trays to assist with meal prep You can save to much time and hassle by getting a few cube trays at the dollar store and using them to freeze recipe starters like meat or vegetable stock, juice, butter (especially flavored butter), and so on. a touch prep will go an extended way!

2. Use bicarbonate of soda to wash cutting boards Just dab some bicarbonate of soda on the board and let it sit overnight. rinse within the morning to possess a clean (and clean smelling) surface.

3. Use plastic bread fasteners as cord organizers If you can’t tell which cord goes to what and they’re all knotted up, all you would like maybe a zip tie to loop them together and people little plastic bread fasteners to clip around all. they are available in several colors and that they take permanent markers well. Finally, know what everything is without having to unplug everything!

4. Use adhesive tape to get rid of splinters Use a bar of soap as a drawer deodorizer No tweezers, needles, or hand glass needed. First, find out the direction of the splinter. Then put a little piece of adhesive tape over the world, and pull the tape off within the other way the splinter entered your skin. You won’t feel anything but relief.

5. Use a bar of soap as a drawer deodorizer One of the most cost-effective and easiest ways to stay your clothes smelling clean even after they’ve been sitting during a drawer for weeks is to use a bar of soap as a drawer deodorizer. Either uses an entire bar or those otherwise useless leftover slivers and have just-washed-freshness every morning!

6. Use cooking spray to get rid of gum from your shoe If you stepped in gum and wish to urge it off your sole, counting on what you've got within the kitchen, you'll use either WD40 or Pam cooking spray to get rid of it. Pam also works for squeaky doors if you run out of WD40. But don't use WD40 in situ of Pam for love or money.

7. Use paper to repair stuck zippers This is a handy tip: if your zipper’s stuck, rub some paper on the teeth. Crayons work too but the paper has the advantage of not staining your material. far better than oil!

8. Use a hand blower to get rid of stickers Use Alka Seltzer to wash toilets Whether your kids put them on the wall or there’s a stubborn price sticker on your new item, the simplest thanks to removing stickers (without scraping or scrubbing) are to run a hand blower over it until the adhesive warms up. It’ll come off a bit like that!

9. Use Alka Seltzer to wash toilets Need to get some water buildup off without tons of scrubbing? Drop a few of Alka Seltzer tabs within the toilet and allow them to sit for 15-20 minutes. Then set about the remainder of your day and let the fizzing do the work.

10. Use baby wipes to wash up glitter Glitter everywhere? the simplest thanks to clean that up is baby wipes. They get the glitter out of even the tiniest spots and also pack up glue or the other sticky substance. If you enjoy crafts, you would like these.

11. Use vegetable oil to wash chrome steel Soap can clean chrome steel, but it won’t make it shine. the simplest thanks to giving your chrome steel items that straight-from-the-manufacturer glow is to place a little amount of vegetable oil on a towel and really lightly brush the metal with it. a touch vegetable oil goes an extended way, so be careful!

12. Use lotion to wash computer keyboards Use ketchup to wash jewelry Keep your keyboard in fitness with an easy cotton swab and a really bit of lotion. It should also help devour the things between the keys.

13. Use ketchup to wash jewelry Need to polish some silver during a jiffy? Use ketchup. No, really. The acid within the tomato makes a superb polish while not being corrosive. This also makes it ideal if your jewelry features a soft gemstone. Just soak the jewelry for a couple of minutes in ketchup and rinse right off.

14. Use dryer sheets as shoe deodorizers Got workout shoes? the simplest thanks to keeping them fresh and prepared are to place dryer sheets in them after you're taking them off. Leave the dryer sheets in there until you would like to place your shoes on again. Your feet will many thanks.

15. Use apple vinegar to alleviate insect bites Don’t scratch that itch, reach for the apple vinegar. Dab a touch onto a bug bite for nearly instant relief. Apple vinegar also works to appease sore throats, in small amounts. Keep a bottle handy.

16. Use a rubber glove to get rid of pet hair from furniture Use a pillowcase to wash ceiling fans Tired of the vacuum, or trying to select up pet hair with sticky tape? the simplest thanks to clean fur off furniture is simply an easy rubber glove. The static generated will attract whatever your fingers don’t devour.

17. Use a pillowcase to wash ceiling fans This is pure genius. Take an old pillowcase, put it over a ceiling blade, then pull it back off… the dust collects on the inside! Just repeat and obtain ready for a dust-free summer!

18. Use ketchup packets as mini ice packs This is a simple one: those extra ketchup and soy packs you get in your remove food? Don’t put them within the junk drawer; put them within the freezer. they're going to work as mini ice packs for little injuries or use a couple of them to stay a can of soda cool in your lunch box.

19. Use butter tubs as storage for little items If you purchase anything that comes with a snap-on lid, like coffee, oatmeal, or butter tubs, they will make organizing everything a breeze. For a bonus, use them as craft projects for rainy days, decorating the outsides, and sorting things to be stored on the insides.

20. Use a filter to wash eyeglasses When plain water won’t work, simply use a dry filter. It’s just rough enough to wash the glass but to not damage it. Your outlook will literally become brighter!

0 notes